


Home

by aishahiwatari



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Swearing, Timeline What Timeline, also it's christmas for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 10:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19017889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: Doctor Leonard McCoy is competent, gainfully employed, successful. He doesn't want for anything, until-Jim is a homeless drifter who tries to do his best for people, even if they're not interested in doing the same for him.Scotty thinks they're both being ridiculous, frankly, but when does anyone listen to him?





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**Author's Note:**

> As ever, I have fudged some timelines here for Important Narrative Purposes and the events of the first AOS movie now happen on Christmas Day.
> 
> This was written for Mi's 450 writing challenge, which if you like you can find on tumblr [here](https://littlecrazyfangirl-98.tumblr.com/post/183830915910/mis-450-writing-challenge-so-i-really-made-it-i)
> 
> My prompt was "Home is where you are."

Jim was cold. He didn’t know how cold, exactly, because his comm hadn’t had battery in about three days, but it was Christmas Eve and it was sunny and whichever asshole had told him it didn’t really get cold in Atlanta had clearly never spent a night on the streets. Maybe it wasn’t below freezing every night, but he was wrapped up as warm as it was possible to be while still being able to move and he couldn’t feel his fingers, had been gritting his teeth so hard and for so long that his head was pounding.

And even so close to Christmas, nobody could spare enough damn credits for him to get a space at a shelter that night. Jim wasn’t high, wasn’t drunk, didn’t smoke, was as clean as it was possible to be when he’d only been able to wash up in the restrooms of fast food restaurants for the previous few days. There was nothing about him to suggest that he might do anything unsavoury with anybody’s money, and yet-

The people walking along the street gave him a wide berth. Most avoided eye contact. One young woman stopped to give him a few credits and a small smile when he thanked her genuinely. Some people were funny about giving him currency, but that day nobody even offered to get him a coffee or a nutrient pack. He was so hungry it hurt, but he wouldn’t get a free meal until dinner and he couldn’t afford to spend anything until he knew he could get a bed somewhere warm for the night.

A couple of buildings down, outside some old-fashioned townhouse, someone argued with a delivery drone. Jim tried to make it seem like he wasn’t watching, conscious that his input was rarely appreciated. It didn’t seem like it would escalate, not that he could do anything to prevent it if it did, just a raised voice and the throwing up of hands and the monotonous, robotic repeating of protocols.

After a few more exchanged words, the drone simply gave up and flew off. The man left behind with a large box -new ‘fresher, maybe?- sighed and ran a hand through his hair; eyed the stairs leading up to the front door of his townhouse with some trepidation; turned on the spot and sighed again. He checked his comm, then, and Jim thought he’d call a friend but he just considered the screen for a moment before:

“Hey. You feel like making fifty credits?”

If there had been anyone else on the street, Jim would have assumed he was talking to them.

There wasn’t. And Jim needed the money, but he wasn’t a masochist. “First floor?” he asked, because after watching the guy struggle for a while, he probably would have offered to help anyway, at least to get him off the street. If it was a ‘fresher, there was no way he’d be able to do it alone.

“Yeah. Delivery company said they’d drop it in the room of my choice, but-” the man gestured expansively at the box, then shrugged.

He seemed genuine. But Jim knew better than anyone that if he left his guard down for a moment, someone would take advantage. And -some unhelpful part of his brain reminded him- hadn’t there been some notorious serial killer who lured in their victims by pretending to need help carrying stuff? Could the whole thing really have been set up in order to entrap and murder him?

Most importantly, was it worth enough credits to get him two nights in a shelter to find out?

With a sigh, he shuffled out of his sleeping bag, noticing the relieved smile on the stranger’s face. He was pretty good-looking actually, not that it mattered to Jim except as a passing observation. He smelled more than bad enough to put anybody off the idea of finding out what he had to offer anyway. It was almost unfair to this guy to have Jim standing so close to him for as long as it would take them to get the box up the fifteen or so steps to the front door.

Jim left his sleeping bag and his rucksack where it was. He didn’t have anything worth stealing and with what should a be a quick trip, nobody would have the chance anyway.

“Is it a ‘fresher?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“’Fraid so. Mine went last week and I do not have time to make it to the laundromat. You want top or bottom?”

Jim’s lip twitched, despite everything, and the man rolled his eyes. They were nice eyes, hazel, dark and expressive. Jim really had to get a grip. Literally. Freshers tended to be heavy since they needed to be weighted in order to prevent them from vibrating free of their fastenings. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the box weighed more than he did, with how little he’d eaten lately. And this guy was tall and broad, with decent sized forearms.

“Top,” Jim said, because it meant he would be going backwards but he would also be taking less of the weight overall.

“Thanks,” Irritatingly hot guy muttered, with an amiable sort of sarcasm.

“You asked.”

There was no answer to that, unless it was in the language of contorted eyebrows and sighs. He tilted the box, so Jim could get a hold under one side, and then bent with a grunt and an impressively straight back to shunt up the other side and take hold himself.

Jesus fuck, it was heavy. Jim really missed being strong. He was panting and aching and light-headed by the time they made it to the kitchen, after much struggling and grunting.

“When was the last time you ate?” the man asked, while Jim leaned on the counter with black holes exploding in his vision, not entirely sure he could remain upright.

“I don’t remember.”

“Shit, sorry, should have thought of that. Can I get you- here, Christ, sit down before you fall down.” The man hovered but didn’t actually touch Jim because he was either very considerate or disgusted by the idea, pulled out a chair from the dining table so Jim could sink into it gratefully. The room was spinning, but slowly it centred. There was a bottle of water offered in his direction, reassuringly sealed. Jim couldn’t open it with his shaking hands, but it was taken gently from him and the cap twisted with the crack of the seal being broken so he accepted it back, taking smallish sips until he felt a little more like himself.

“Thanks,” he offered, feeling wretched and sure he looked worse. What the hell had happened to him? He’d been so confident and capable once.

“No, thank you. Not sure what else I would’ve done, without your help. Will you- let me make you a sandwich before you leave?”

“I have to go.” It was so obviously a lie that Jim nearly flinched. Where the fuck could he possibly need to be? Back out on the street, watching strangers ignore him?

“Well, don’t rush. Don’t want you hurting yourself on those stairs.” The man fished in his pocket for his credit chip, made the promised transfer when Jim shakily held out his own and smiled ruefully. “I’m not kicking you out. But I don’t want you to think I wasn’t actually gonna pay you either.”

Jim understood. And appreciated it. He was beginning to get real feeling back in his fingers for what felt like the first time in days but wrapped up as he was, there was sweat trickling down his back. He needed to get out.

“Thanks,” he said again, because his mind refused to find anything remotely intelligent or witty or useful, instead. He got a painfully sweet smile in response, dragged himself to his feet and did his best not to notice the immaculate, antique hardwood floor, comfortable-looking L-shaped couch, the photos and objects of sentimental value that made it a home for somebody. God, it had been so long and heading out into the cold again was like walking into a wall. Clutching the credit chip in his hand a little tighter, because that was two nights in the warmth of a shelter, of hot meals and somebody to talk to who wasn’t drunk and high and as cynical and broken as he was, Jim traipsed down the stairs.

The man hovered at his back, just far away enough that Jim couldn’t reasonably tell him to back off, maybe concerned but also maybe just making sure he left.

When he got to his stuff again, though, he stopped and closed his eyes, just for a moment. Someone had clearly taken issue with his presence and had been watching him closely, because there was what looked like an entire compost heap dumped right where he’d been sitting. Everything was soiled and disgusting, his sleeping bag and spare shirts and underwear included. It was a pretty monumental effort to go to. Jim supposed he was lucky he hadn’t just been set on fire.

“What the fuck is wrong with people,” he muttered to himself, beginning to shake things out. He’d have to spend a couple of credits down at the laundromat himself.

“You alright?”

Jim considered feeling deeply suspicious of the man he had helped, concluded it was too elaborate and expensive a setup to just have vaguely upset him. It wasn’t like the casual heartlessness of humanity was exactly a surprise.

“Just looks like someone dumped compost on my stuff. It’s all still here, at least. I can get it cleaned.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. Look, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t doing me a favour, so I feel sort of responsible, alright? Will you please just come in-”

“What part of _I have to go_ do you not understand? “

“Just hear me out, okay, and if you don’t like it I’ll let you walk away, no questions asked.”

Jim felt like pointing out that he was going to do that whichever way, but he had already waited too long. He nodded.

The relief that flooded the man’s face didn’t look faked. “Okay. Just- come in. I’ll make you a coffee and something to eat. You can take a shower. Give me an hour to get the new machine plumbed in, and another to get your stuff washed and dry. And then you do whatever you were going to do before I came along and- ruined your day.”

“You didn’t-” too late, Jim realised he was invested, he was engaging in a discussion that wasn’t going to matter if he just. Walked. Away. “What’s in it for you?”

The man considered lying to him, Jim could tell. But then he sighed. “Just the hope that one day you’ll pay it forward. Someone helped me once, when I was at rock bottom, and if he hadn’t I would have ended up in a similar position to you. This is the least I can do.”

“We’re not- this isn’t a Jesus thing, right?”

“Most definitely not. I’m Leonard, by the way. McCoy.” He held out his hand for Jim to shake, which considering Jim’s was covered in a variety of rotting food waste showed impressive resolve.

“Jim. You’re sure your neighbours won’t mind?”

“My lease is up in a month. And one of them did this to you. My neighbours can go fuck themselves.”

Jim’s mouth curled into a broad grin without permission from his brain. He managed to temper it slightly before he agreed. “Two hours. Then your little- Christmas good deed is over. Got it?”

“Got it. Come on, let’s get you warm. You must be cold right down to your bones.”

Jim hated how good that sounded. He wouldn’t get used to it, he promised himself. It was just like taking a vacation from his life for a couple of hours, in the house of a complete stranger who, for some reason, wanted to help him.

Or he was about to get murdered. It wouldn’t exactly be a big deal for this Leonard McCoy to take his credits back after that. If that was even his real name. Jim wasn’t sure he wanted to take that for granted, settled on internally nicknaming him instead, based on that weird last turn of phrase.

“I should- I mean, is it alright if I shower first?” he asked, because it was a lovely house and he didn’t feel like he could touch anything without staining it.

“Sure. Do you- want to borrow some clothes? While we’re washing, might as well do everything. “

The thought of being naked, vulnerable and at a stranger’s mercy made Jim feel physically sick. “Uhh-“

“How about some clothes I was going to recycle anyway? If you don’t mind paint-spattered sweatpants and a T-shirt that’s never fit me. You can keep them.”

That was better, but Jim still felt like his whole world was being turned upside down. He had no idea which of his warring instincts to trust. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Bones started the coffee machine then went in search of clothes, leaving Jim, a complete stranger, entirely unattended in his living room.

If he was regularly so trusting, he needed Jim’s help more than Jim needed his. Frankly he was asking for trouble. Holding his bag close so he got stains on his already-soiled clothes rather than dripping, Jim looked around. The kitchen was spotless, with marble countertops and an enormous fridge. Everything was neatly in its place, the furniture apparently antique wherever possible, with dark wood cabinets and chests. The couch was huge, expansive and comfortable-looking. There was a fruit bowl on the dining table, filled with -Jim risked taking a few steps in order to examine it- actual fruit. And when he looked more closely at what was on the other side of the kitchen, he saw a flight of stairs leading upwards. Maybe bedrooms were up there, although Bones had just gone through a doorway. A utility, maybe?

He emerged before Jim could worry too much, with worn but warm-looking sweatpants and a clean T-shirt and the fluffiest towel Jim had ever seen. He really needed to get in the shower because he thought he was going to cry. There was so much he missed that so many people took for granted, and to be offered it, apparently without agenda or dishonest motivation, was overwhelming.

Bones was a decent guy. If Jim hadn’t already known, it would have been confirmed when he pretended not to notice Jim’s wobbling lip and watery eyes, instead just reaching out, carefully and calmly, to take Jim’s bag and deposit it in a garbage sack. “I’ll show you the bathroom. You got any allergies?”

“Uhh- not to food.”

“I’ve not got much in, but how do you feel about grilled cheese and tomato soup?”

“That sounds amazing,” Jim said, quite honestly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something genuinely hot. They had reached the upstairs hallway by that point and Bones opened a door for him to reveal a wonderfully warm, clean bathroom.

“Just come downstairs when you’re done. I’ll- understand if you wanna take your time. No rush.”

“Thanks.”

Jim hadn’t meant to take his time. He’d fully intended to get through the process as quickly as possible, because being naked in a stranger’s house still left him feeling unspeakably vulnerable. But with the door safely locked and the perfectly hot spray of water against his back, he couldn’t bring himself not to savour it.

At first, when he shampooed his hair, the water ran grey. He was hit with another stab of deep, desperate despair that he had fallen so far, that most days he felt so far from human that he could barely remember where he came from. He had just been surviving, existing day to day with no purpose, no options to pursue even had he come up with any ideas.

It was entirely baffling to him that someone like Bones could show him such kindness when Jim didn’t feel like he could even begin to deserve it. 

Jim let himself cry, for a while, in the privacy of the spray until the water ran clear and he had to debate whether to use the shower gel with a familiar, masculine scent or the one in the pink bottle that smelled like bubblegum.

He settled for the masculine one. No reason he should smell like Bones’ presumably absent girlfriend beyond his own personal, childish joy, and he was concerned about making an impression that was as good as possible in the circumstance. Bones was doing him a favour and Jim was determined not to take advantage, tempting though his many offers were.

The mirror was too steamed up for Jim to see his own reflection when he finally convinced himself to step out from under the spray. Probably for the best; Jim had always been slim but months of eating so little had brought his body to the level of being unattractively skinny. His hair was longer than he had ever intentionally kept it, and his beard -not too many opportunities to shave, out on the street- was as clean as he could get it but still untidy. His defined cheekbones were gaunt, his skin blotchy, his eyes dull.

Well, at least he knew Bones wasn’t just after him for his looks. A man like that could do so much better than Jim, on every level. The T-shirt that had been too small for Bones was baggy around Jim’s shoulders, the sweatpants loose around his waist until he pulled the string tight and tied it.

Clean and dry, except for his damp hair, he could hardly stand to touch the clothes he had been wearing before. If he’d had the option, he would have just burned them, disgusting and stinking as they were. But he had just enough clothing as it was, and he was pragmatic. He gathered them up as best he could and stepped out into the hallway, resisting the urge to snoop.

Downstairs. To the kitchen. Where Bones had left out a mug of hot coffee and assembled sandwiches ready for grilling before turning his attention to his new ‘fresher. When Jim peered curiously into the utility, he was on his knees, cursing to himself, hair almost as damp as Jim’s.

“You alright?”

“Oh, just peachy,” came the grumbled, sarcastic response.

Jim squeezed into the tiny room -more of a cupboard really- having dumped his clothes with his bag on some easily-cleaned wood flooring, eyeing the downloaded instructions on the padd Bones was poring over. “Need a hand?”

“A couple, if you’ve got them.” Bones straightened and his white tee was damp all down the front, too, but Jim was not staring, absolutely not.  “If you can figure out where that connection’s supposed to go, you’ll be my hero.”

“How could I resist that opportunity?” Jim had thought maybe he had lost his sense of humour. It was good to be proved wrong, even feebly and just for a little while in circumstances he could hardly hope to duplicate. “It doesn’t look too bad. Looks like it just needs to go- what? Have instructions changed in the last couple years? This looks nothing like- and what the hell is that supposed to be?”

“Let me know when you figure it out. Lunch first?”

Jim was about to abruptly decline, but his stomach chose that moment to noisily protest the delay. “Sure, just give me five minutes? Maybe I can make some sense of this.”

“Then you’re a better man than I am. I’ll get food started.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jim barely realised he was speaking, too engrossed in the diagrams that bore little if any resemblance to the appliance he was wrestling with.

In the end -because he could smell and hear food being made and he was not going to miss the opportunity to have a normal meal like a normal person- he threw the instructions aside and just went with what felt right. He knew how stuff went together and even though he hadn’t had the opportunity to apply that practical knowledge recently, well, hopefully it was like riding a bike.

God, he missed his bike.

“Jim, come eat!”

Jim rested his forehead against the cool, chrome side of the ‘fresher until the aching pain in his heart faded and he felt ready to face the domesticity of it all. Did Bones have any idea what he was giving him then, really? Could he possibly know how he restored some of Jim’s faith in the world, how he made him simultaneously want to bust a gut laughing and cry his eyes out? That such simple kindness could mean so much?

They sat at an actual table in the warm, comfortable atmosphere of Bones’ home with no strangers staring, nothing cold or wet soaking through Jim’s clothing, no pervading smell of urine. Jim’s hands shook as he raised greasy, hot food to his mouth.

As the taste of it exploded onto his tongue -hot, savoury, sweet and creamy- he groaned in pleasure, eyes rolling back, skin tingling with everything that was good and perfect in that moment.

Including, maybe unfortunately, the warm, genuine smile Bones gave him in response, and the way he looked away when Jim met his eyes. His cheeks were a little pink.

Jim's heart stuttered.

That was it. He was going to do everything in his power to keep that feeling for as long as he could, so that when he was out on the streets, hungry, lonely, cold and desperately bored, it would be so ingrained in his memory that he couldn't possible forget that he was real, he was human and he was still worth something.

"If you- couldn't get the 'fresher in right away, I could- probably spare a few hours," Jim ventured, cautiously, when he had finished his food and made a quick assessment of his things and the exits, just in case.

He was glad Bones didn't ask him if he was sure, because he had no idea what the hell he thought he was doing.

"Alright. I'll make a call. I have a friend who could maybe take a look at it. The guest room's free, if you wanted to take a nap."

Jim knew he was tired, because he thought he'd been hiding it better than that. "Maybe a couple hours. If that's alright."

"If you- wanted to stay the night, you could."

Jim narrowed his eyes and Bones flinched.

"Not like that! I mean, you're- " Bones gestured expansively to Jim, who had no idea what he was talking about. "But this is- not conditional. I'm not after that. I just thought you might like to have your own space for the night. The door locks."

Jim thought that pointing out that it was Bones' home, so he could override any lock would just be uncharitable in the circumstances. "Maybe."

"I'll show you where the room is."

-

Jim awoke in an unfamiliar and dark but blissfully comfortable space. His bed was soft and smelled like laundry detergent, and he was alone. The most jarring part was the unfamiliar sensation of safety, which Jim frankly didn't trust until he remembered a little more about where he was.

Wow, Bones really hadn't made a move on him. He hadn't seemed like the type to do anything like that, but Jim knew that sometimes the temptation of having somebody close, somebody who couldn't say no, made people do strange and unexpected things. He had, however, let Jim sleep until long after the shelter would be full, even with so many people able to find space with their families over Christmas. So maybe he was just planning to make his advances later on. Jim wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that prospect.

When Jim emerged into the hallway, he heard voices from downstairs, had to resist the urge to sneak around like a thief as he crossed to the bathroom. It was okay that he was there. Nothing to worry or panic about, except the fact that he was about to meet a total strange in the house of another man who was almost a stranger, and he had no idea where his precious few possessions were.

Well, he had lived through far worse.

Oh God, could he smell pizza?

The living room was warm and bright, a beacon of hope at the bottom of the stairs. Jim took a deep breath before he stepped into the light.

"Jim!" Bones still looked genuinely happy to see him and wasn't that just the weirdest part of the whole thing. He was lounged on the couch, eating a slice of one of the three enormous pizzas on the coffee table. "You want pizza? We've got plenty."

"Before I- I just-" fuck, Jim needed to get his shit together. Spit it out, damnit. Just get it out of the way early and then deal with the consequences. "I didn't mean to sleep that long. The shelter'll be full by now. Did you- mean it when you said I could stay?"

"I meant it. Come eat. You want a drink?"

"Uh, sure. I can get it, though."

"Don't worry about it. Water? Beer? One of each?"

"Sure, if that's- oh." Jim turned as he caught movement in his peripheral vision, only to have one of each pressed into his hands by a man giving him a blatant, thorough but apparently non-sexual once-over.

"Len really picked you up off the street?"

"Leave him alone, Scotty," Bones warned, although he made no move to intervene.

He didn't need to, anyway. Jim was more than capable and the words had been blunt, but not vicious. He replied with a smirk, "Almost literally."

"How's a guy like you end up on the street? Slow couple of months in the underwear modelling business?"

Bones put his head in his hands. "Oh my God."

"Actualy, I don't wear underwear." Jim made sure he had eye contact when he gave Scotty a wink. "Pants haven't been built yet that'll take the job on."

It was of course not true, just an ancient reference from pretty much the dawn of screened entertainment, but Jim had judged his audience correctly. Scotty laughed, pounded him on the back and vaulted onto the couch at the opposite end to Bones, leaving Jim to take the space between them.

"You're alright," Scotty conceded.

"I've been talking about him for three hours and it took him two minutes to make you see sense?" Bones rolled his eyes, apparently drunk or relaxed enough to miss the implications of what he had said.

"Three hours?" Jim looked to Scotty, who gave a long-suffering sigh.

"He has a type. Blond hair, blue eyes. Emotionally impenetrable. Unfeasibly gorgeous."

"Jocelyn was not unfeasibly gorgeous." Bones interjected sulkily, taking a swig of his beer.

"Ex-girlfriend?" Jim technically asked Bones, but he was looking at Scotty. 

It surprised him when Bones was the one who corrected him. "Ex-wife."

"You were married?"

"Until last Christmas, yeah."

"You broke up at Christmas?"

"Christmas Eve. Came home from work early to find her fucking someone else."

Scotty raised his bottle at that, "Least it got you the holidays off this year, though, eh?"

For the first time, Jim actually believed that the weird charitable venture that had brought him in from the street was as much for Bones' benefit as his own. He was actually doing somebody some good. He had forgotten what that felt like. His hand was on Bones' knee before he could think better of it and it earned him a disgruntled look. Jim squeezed, just briefly, smiled and then reached for a slice of pizza, relaxing back into the plush couch with a groan.

"Alright." Scotty waved his hand at the holoscreen. "I'm putting on a terrible Christmas movie before you both turn this into one. Honestly. You've known each other a day. What are you playing at?"

Jim shot a sideways glance at Bones, who was attempting to hide a smile behind his drink, his cheeks a little pink, and settled himself more comfortably.

-

After the first movie - something about a telepathic dog and the CIA, Jim had really lost track- it wasn't quite midnight but Scotty cracked open his present from Bones and was willing to share. The next movie -sisters? A North Pole casino?- was much more bearable with a rather large glass of scotch in his hand. And then another. He was warm and safe and in good company.

Frankly he had no idea how he actually made it into bed. He wasn't so drunk he had no idea what he was doing, but he was giggling and stumbling around, and neither of the others were much better. Jim barely found the right door, was sort of guiltily disappointed when Bones staggered off to find his own room. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, though, because the moment his head hit the pillow, he was out.

-

"Merry Christmas!" Jim called out, obnoxiously loud, inches from Bones' ear, in the morning when he found him sat at the dining table with his head in his hands.

"Damnit, Jim. At least make coffee before the torture of this holiday truly begins."

Jim had been momentarily distracted by the urge to press his lips to the taut curve of Bones' neck -shit, was he still drunk?- but actually coffee sounded pretty good too. And if there was a day he was going to go easy on Bones, it was that one. He'd been so fucking good to Jim, and if Jim thought there had been any chance of him being able to make breakfast without burning the place down, he would have offered to do that too. Not like there was anything else he could offer.

He sighed as he started the coffee machine, heard Bones snort in sympathy.

"Not feeling too chipper today either?"

Jim turned to lean against the counter and smiled. "Beats waking up on the street."

"Well, I should fucking hope so. Or my legendary Southern hospitality has deserted me completely."

"Oh, you are- very hospitable."

Wait, what? What did that even mean? Was Jim flirting? He was definitely still drunk.

"Stay. For Christmas dinner."

Oh, holy shit. "When- when does this stop?"

Bones grimaced. "I would say- when you tell me it does, but I guess that- sort of already happened. So- when you walk away."

"Why?"

"Scotty tells me I am pathologically incapable of being alone. And that I've constructed a fantasy around you that's based on incomplete information and my own personal issues."

"I didn't realise Scotty was a psychologist."

"He's an engineer. I'm a psychologist."

"And do you think he's right?"

“Well," Bones was staring at the table, but Jim saw his lips twitch upwards, "You haven't proved me wrong. So far."

"I don't know what that says about you, but I am no-one's fantasy."

It looked like there was a lot that Bones wanted to say to that but held back. Instead, he said, "How bad can you be? You made me coffee."

"Maybe this is all for me." But Jim was already getting out two mugs, realising too late that he was learning where everything was kept, that he was making himself at home, which in reality needed to be avoided at all costs.

Maybe they were both living in their own fantasies, one where whatever was happening in those few stolen moments could be allowed to continue. With mugs in hand, they made intense eye contact a few times before Jim was the one who chickened out first. He reached for a padd that had been left on the table and examined it as best he could while it was still locked. He could have unlocked it, but he didn't necessarily want Bones knowing that just yet.

"That's Scotty's. He uses it for work mostly, some theory he's been working on," Bones said, and Jim's attempt to put a little space between them was decided not working, because he leaned over to tap at the screen, his shoulder warm and solid against Jim's. It was the most intimate contact that Jim had experienced in months. He didn't allow himself to lean into it, stared at the screen as Bones scrolled through pages of formulae, calculations, circuit diagrams.

Jim's mind caught on a few familiar aspects. "What's he trying to do?"

"He is not supposed to talk about it. And even if he were, I wouldn't have a clue what he was saying. You scientifically minded?"

"I dabble." Jim shrugged, already scrolling up again to try and take everything in from the beginning. At least Bones looks vaguely impressed, rather than unconvinced. "Does he mind if I mess around with this a bit?"

"Go ahead. He's got it all backed up. Just so long as you don't mind talking about it for hours at a time while he bounces ideas off you."

"Sounds fun."

"Oh, God, there's two of you."

There was another one of those stupid, amazing intense moments between them. Bones' eyes were hazel, ever-shifting, deep and gorgeous. Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell was Jim going to do?

He dropped his gaze to the padd. It really was interesting, and he was engrossed before he realised it. It felt so good to really stretch his mind again, to have something to do that felt like learning, felt worthwhile. He made a few notes in an obnoxious pink colour, played with some theoretical values, transposed some formulae. He seemed to get the same results Scotty had noted, anyway, to even his own surprise.

It hadn't occurred to him to save his work, vague and amateurish as it was, but Bones asked for his help stuffing a turkey and he just set it down on the table before burying himself elbow-deep in poultry. He was peeling potatoes -incredibly badly, to Bones' amused exasperation (or exasperated amusement)- when Scotty picked it up and scrolled through in surprise.

"Did you do this?" he asked, when Jim was relieved from his duties for a moment to provide Scotty with coffee.

"Yeah. That okay?"

"Of course. Just surprised. People don't usually get this stuff. Mostly they look at me like I'm mad when I tell them it's possible."

"To be fair, most of them saw what you did to that beagle," Bones said, taking over Jim's peeling with an enviable efficiency, hands steady and sure.

Jim looked away before he could think too much about that. "Beagle?"

"Miscalculation. I'm sure it's fine. Wherever it is."

"You don't know what happened to it?" Jim shouldn't have been laughing, probably, but it made Scotty grin reluctantly where he had been scowling before.

"It'll turn up. Anyway, this is the stage where I'd been having- trouble, what have you done here?"

"Oh, it's just messing around. I don't even think it's right."

"No, this is- this is the answer, how did you get this?"

"It wasn't that hard, I just-"

"Wasn't that hard!"

"Scotty!" Bones' raised voice was much more resonant than Scotty's, but it didn't make Jim flinch back in the same way. "Damnit man, don't shout at him. He was just messing around."

"Messing-" Scotty cut himself off, shooting Jim an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, alright, I'm just worked up. Will you please just tell me how you got this?"

Jim swallowed, mind racing, parts of him warning to run, to argue that he didn't need to be defended and yes, okay, he was smarter than he looked. He'd got used to people being surprised by that. It was a bit part of how he survived, being constantly underestimated, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

He took a deep breath, straightened his back. He could handle anything. "I didn't mean to insult you. My mind just works a little differently. You did everything that made sense, I guessed, so I just tried something different. Looked at it like this variable- ‘s’- was the thing that was moving."

Scotty's eyes went wide, then he frowned, then he bent over his padd, scrolling and muttering to himself, making a few notes of his own alongside Jim's. 

When Jim looked to Bones for some indication of what was going on, he got only a shrug in response, and then a pointed questioning look that asked if he was alright. Jim nodded, already a little embarrassed by his reactions. He was sure they had said more about him than he wanted anyone to know, but with a final assessing look, Bones turned back to his potatoes.

"Do you know what this is?" Scotty asked after a while, and Jim shook his head, quite honestly. None of Scotty's notes started right back at the beginning, so although he had an idea of how all the different variables related to one another, he didn't know exactly what they were. Scotty told him, somewhat gravely, "This is my work on trans-warp beaming."

"That's not possible." Jim hadn't exactly done well at school, but he knew that.

Scotty laughed. "Lad. You just proved it is."

Bones swore, suddenly and emphatically. "Fuck!" he grabbed a towel and pressed it to his bloody fingers with a grimace.

"You alright?" Scotty asked, with a little more urgency than was entirely necessary for a relatively small cut.

"Yeah. You grab my kit?"

Scotty was already moving, grabbing a med-kit from the utility room.

"God, I'm sorry, Len. Should've known better. You were holding a knife. Could've done some real damage."

"It'll take more than that."

"Still. I know you'd be devastated if you lost dexterity."

Bones snorted, was already programming the regen with his other hand. "Devastated as you'd be if somebody discovered the trans-warp equation before you?"

"That is a bit of a blow, yes."

"Wait, what?" Jim had been averting his eyes, almost, because the two of them had been very close and he had sort of felt like he was intruding on a moment but that had snapped him back to attention. "I haven't discovered anything! That's all your work. How could I take the credit for something I would never even have thought about if you hadn't- I really, really don't want that sort of attention. Put your name on it. I don't want any credit."

They were both staring at him, Scotty in utter confusion, Bones with concern. It was taking everything Jim had not to just get up and run. He hadn't planned for this. How could he have?

"Jim," Scotty was the first to speak, uncharacteristically serious. "I can't in good conscience pass this work off as my own. And- there'll be royalties. You can't say you don't need money. You're- to even have understood what this means- you must have a hell of a mind. You could really make a difference. Starfleet-"

"No." Jim couldn't hide the way his expression shuttered or his voice hardened.

Scotty persevered all the same. "Yeah, I know, believe me. Wankers kicked me out the moment I fucked up. But they do good work. Overall. This could save lives."

"So save them. I want no part of it."

"Okay, let's all calm the fuck down." Bones cut in before Scotty could respond. "Scotty, he says he doesn't want to do it. Jim- can you please tell us why?"

For some reason it made Jim's temper fray further, as though it weren't obvious. "I'm not homeless just on a whim. This isn't a lifestyle choice. I'm not just trying something out. I did it because I had to get away from my old life. If I put my name all over some scientific paper, there'll be nowhere left to hide. Especially from Starfleet."

Scotty frowned at that. "Are you in trouble?"

"No, nothing like that."

"What's your surname?"

Jim glared. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Then I'll go." Jim went as far as getting to his feet, avoiding eye contact but catching sight of the matching stricken expressions of his companions before he began to seriously contemplate getting his belongings together. Leaving like that, so abruptly, would be a wrench but it was probably for the best. Like ripping off a band-aid.

He heard lowered voiced behind him, Scotty's panicked hisses and Bones' low murmurs in an exchange he forced himself not to listen to. Where the hell was his bag? His clothes were fresh and clean in the utility, folded neatly. Jim ran a hand over them, memorising the feeling he was sure he wouldn't experience for some time. He had missed it, but having it still wasn't worth the sacrifices he would have to make, giving up who he was for everyone who saw only the ghost of his father in his place. 

Bones cleared his throat, a safe enough distance behind Jim that he didn't feel the need to react. He was holding Jim's bag, and he held it out for Jim to take but didn't let go straight away, keeping his grip until Jim met his eyes.

"Scotty's gone. He's collecting his notes together to submit his paper to the scientists at Starfleet. Will you consider- trusting us to hang onto a share of that money for you? You could collect it when you wanted. No questions asked."

Jim could have broken Bones' grip. He didn't, let go himself instead because the whole thing felt a little ridiculous. "I can't keep coming back here."

"Could you stay?"

Jim's heart squeezed painfully, hope and regret all at once. "I can't be what you want me to be." 

"You already are."

"Well-" Jim sighed, "Not to kinkshame you or anything, but that's pretty fucked up."

"I guess we'll never find out."

Jim was reaching for his bag again when he realised and choked, unintentionally taking a step back in sheer disbelief. "Did you just- is that a proposition?"

"Statement of fact. I'd never put pressure on you. I'd never want you to feel like you owed me in any way."

"I could have all kinds of diseases. I could be hooking on the side."

Bones' laugh was short, explosive and heart-warming. "Hooking? Do people still say that? And you're not. I've worked the free clinic. If you were selling yourself for drugs, you'd look far worse. And if you were keeping the money, you wouldn't need to be on the street."

"What are you hoping for, here? That we'll stare lovingly into each other's eyes as we make love that's mind-blowing enough that we decide that- what? We want to keep doing this?"

The way Bones' eyes dropped to the floor proved Jim was at least partly correct. He should not, under any circumstances, have been considering the offer. Wondering what that broad chest would feel against his- pale, skinny, scarred one. No. There was no possible way that he could live up to any expectations that were being so casually tossed around. He rubbed his forearm, an unbearably telling anxious tic and cursed his own body for betraying him when Bones' expression, already sad and a little wistful, softened at the movement. 

"I've been accused of being a romantic. But the offer still stands." Bones pointedly moved out of the way, no longer standing between Jim and the door when he said it, setting the bag down on the counter, too. Jim had every right and freedom to refuse, he knew. 

So he did. He received only the briefest look of resigned acceptance in response, had all the space he needed to collect everything that was his- hardly anything, although his bag strained a little with the additional shirt and pants he packed away. That rush of scent as he sealed the zipper, fresh and clean, would last a couple of days at the most. Then Jim would be back to what passed for a routine, waiting for each day to be over, believing that something had to change. That people would forget to admire him for something he could never hope to be. It could only be a matter of time, right?

His hand was actually on the control for the front door when it occurred to him that maybe the best way to make people forget was to give them something else to remember. 

He had sagged visibly when that moment had thrown into sharp relief exactly what he was giving up, the opportunities he was missing out on, all compounded by the fact that Bones, even with his feelings and his opinions about what was best for Jim, was still willing to let him go.

There was a saying about that, wasn't there?

And Jim had been so careful. His picture hadn't appeared anywhere in years, since he was a sulky pre-teen stood in his mother's shadow at a Memorial Day function. It had been almost a year since anybody would even have vaguely wondered where he was. There was almost nobody left who could have connected him to what happened on Tarsus IV. So all that he was getting, at that moment, was down to him. The kindness he'd shown strangers even when they'd demonstrated that they had no interest into doing the same for him. The conversations and the exchanges and the genuine compliments that Jim instinctively rejected but couldn't forget. Those were all just for him. 

He had been fighting so hard to keep what little he had that he had forgotten how to accept more. 

Almost forgotten.

Dropping his bag and turning, he met Bones' curious, unexpectant gaze, pushed into his arms and cradled both side of his jaw to kiss him. Big, warm hands settled at the base of his spine and his hip, just resting like he was something to be treasured.

"What made you change your mind?" Bones asked, and Jim felt the soft pressure of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the vibration in his chest. He pressed closer, and bit, and tasted when Bones opened up for him. He had forgotten how good it could feel.

Distracted as he was by cataloguing all the way their bodies could fit together, it took him a few moments to focus on anything but the points of contact between them. When he answered the question, he only needed one word:

"You."

Bones made a small, amused sound and then they were kissing again, Bones' touches so reverent and gentle, theoretically escapable. As though anything could have changed Jim's mind in that perfect moment. 

"You sure?" he asked, too. Giving Jim so many choices, so many options, opportunities to back out.

Jim didn't need them. He was done denying himself.

"I don't want to stay in your guest bedroom anymore," he said, careful of his emphasis, leaving no doubt about his meaning.

"I want you to have that space, should you need it. But tonight, you won't." Bones' tone was deep and filled with promise, and he tangled his fingers in Jim's hair, messy though it was, his fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp and sending sparks of electricity down his spine, making his hips twitch forward. It had been so long since anybody had touched Jim, longer still since they had done it with intent. Longer still, or maybe forever, since Jim had wanted anyone the way he wanted tall, dark, gorgeous, kind-hearted Bones. With every one of their exchanged words, their lips brushed, hands roamed, Jim seeking the warmth beneath the soft blue sweater Bones was wearing.

Enough. Jim was going to go off before either of them even touched his cock, at that rate. "Take me to bed, Bones," he urged.

And Bones pressed a hand at the small of his back to haul him close with a growl and did just that.

He did pause, once he had Jim on his back, splayed out on the sheets, though. "What the hell did you just call me?"

-

An indeterminate amount of time later, they were laying side by side in Bones' bed, sharing slow, sated kisses and soft touches when the trill of Bones' comm made them both startle. Without pausing in his exploration, trailing kisses down Jim's jaw and throat, Bones reached across and glanced at it before flipping it open.

"Hey, Scotty."

_"Fucking Kirk!"_

If Bones noticed Jim tensing far more than was appropriate, even by his standards, he said nothing, just laid a soothing hand on his sternum and rubbed gently.

"What's she done now?"

_"She won't even fucking read it. There's nobody else here, what else could she possibly be doing? It's not enough that she oversaw my court martial. This is discrimination."_

"You've mailed it though, right?"

_"I'm not mailing it! Seen it too many times, Len. All it takes is someone changing the name at the bottom of the page and suddenly I'm conned out of all recognition with no hope of affording the legal bills I'd end up with for fighting it. Or worse, they wouldn't bother reading it at all. No. I need to prove it works. Then tell them how I did it. But they won't even let me on the site any more!"_

Jim's heart rate was gradually returning to normal, his mind still racing but in a way he could use rather than in blind panic, the beginnings of an idea occurring to him. "I can get you onto the site."

_"Jim? Look, mate, I'm sorry about shouting at you but is this really the time-"_

"Scotty. I can do it."

_"I'm barred. I can't even get past the gate."_

"You don't need to, though. If I can get onto the site and into a transporter room, I can beam you in. And then all you have to do is reprogram the transporter, and find a ship that's travelling at warp. You can beam us onto it, and it'll prove the theory works."

Scotty was silent. Bones looked unconvinced. "Isn't this all pretty damn illegal? Even if you can sneak onto the base-"

"I don't need to sneak. They'll let me in. I'll walk right up to the front door."

_"And I'm not testing it on you, Jim. If anyone's getting beamed in some sort of trial run, it's me."_

Jim sighed. Bones was still looking at him doubtfully. To be fair, none of it sounded exactly safe.

He felt more excited about it than he had about anything else in years. "Fine. Let me just get dressed-"

_"Well that's entirely too much information."_

"Can it, Scotty," Bones barked, and Scotty laughed, just a little.

Jim finished, with maybe the slightest flush warming his cheeks. He hadn't meant to give them away quite so quickly. "And I'll make myself presentable. I'll meet you down there."

 _"Alright."_ Scotty didn't exactly sound reassured, but Jim couldn't blame him. He hadn't exactly given that much information about how it was all going to be achieved, and he was grateful that he'd even been trusted so far. Honestly, he wasn't even sure he knew exactly what he was doing yet, himself. 

"Do you have a razor I can borrow?" he asked Bones, next. Showing up looking like he'd been living on the streets for years was unlikely to help his case. He wouldn't even get a chance to state his name. It wouldn't do him any good if they didn't believe him. 

"It's all going to be alright," he said, when Bones looked at him doubtfully, handing over the shaver. He hadn't objected, but he was clearly holding a lot back. He had to have questions, and Jim was unspeakably grateful he hadn't asked any of them yet. He wasn't sure that he'd have any answers.

He paused to consider himself when he was done, clean-shaven and hair styled as neatly as he could, wearing borrowed clothes that only hung a little strangely on him. He had wondered on their provenance until he had come to button the white shirt and had a moment of disorientation, the process feeling wrong, somehow, called out, "Am I the same size as your wife?"

"Ex-wife!" Bones shouted back.

The sleeves were a little short, but Jim rolled them up, adjusted the pants so they didn't crush him quite so much. He'd have to swipe some more from a locker at Starfleet if he hoped to be doing anything too active. 

He shouldn't have been hoping. Should have been planning to get in by claiming he was visiting his mother, and then quietly slipping aside from the route to find a transporter room he could shut himself in for a while.

His heart was pounding. He had butterflies in his stomach. He was about to do something that could really make a difference to people.

He had almost forgotten how different he looked until he stepped out into the hallway and Bones stared at him like he'd never seen him before.

Well. He sort of hadn't. "What do you think?" he asked, managing far less bravado than he would have liked, running a hand through his hair, shifting a little awkwardly. He had always looked good, before. It was what was inside him that had always been the problem.

"Damnit, Jim."

The way Bones looked at him, though, with that sweet sigh of a curse, with wide eyes and an awestruck expression on his face, made him feel like maybe he was getting better.

"You like it?" Jim stepped a little closer, could see something there, too, something fragile and braced for rejection that he needed to quell. He'd never felt like that before. Without waiting for an answer, he stepped again, and once more, until he could lean in for a kiss. Bones met him halfway, soft and warm, just barely touching him, like he was something fragile, to be treasured. "I'm still the same person."

"I know," Bones growled, though, raising a hand to take hold of his jaw and kiss him harder, the first sign of possessiveness he'd shown yet. "I'm coming with you."

Jim hadn't expected that. If he was honest, he'd expected to be told not to go at all, if anything. "Why?" he asked before he could think better of it, before he could recall what they were talking about and begin to argue that Bones shouldn't even be offering, that he had the most of lose, of any of them.

"Because I know what happens when Scotty gets some bizarre idea in his head. You'll end up on some ludicrous, far-fetched escapades and meanwhile I'm sat here wondering if the two of you are even alive. Well, I'm not doing it. I'm coming with you."

"Bones. Getting onto the site isn't illegal but I can't guarantee we won't get in any trouble for this. If Scotty's theory works-"

"It will."

"Well, when we beam onto that ship, we'll be trespassing on military property."

"I thought Starfleet was a peacekeeping organisation."

"Same fucking difference, Bones." Jim threw his hands up, sighed, then took Bones' hands in his. "Scotty's already barred from the property. I'm sure he's blacklisted from all kinds of things. And I have nothing. Except you. And you've got so much to lose, here. I'm not saying no. Just- tell me you've thought about this. That you know what you're getting into."

"You're not leaving me behind."

Jim looked at him for another moment, took in the set of his jaw, the resolve in his eyes. "Fine. Just go along with what I say, alright?"

"You got it."

-

It didn't stop him from murmuring, "We're going to get shot," when they strolled right up to the front gatehouse. He was looking pretty damn good, too, in his suit pants and a collared shirt, but he was not finding the same natural confidence that Jim was tapping in to. Still, Jim thought that could sort of work with his plan. He approached the poor Lieutenant who'd been tasked with guarding the almost empty building on Christmas Day, and gave her his most winning smile. 

"Name?" she asked, in a way that was both demanding and entirely unconcerned, with a tap at her computer screen.

"Fair warning, I'm not on the list," Jim said, and he saw her sit up a little straighter, assess him physically, her fingers twitching a little closer to her service weapon. "But I'm hoping I'll be in your system. It's sort of a surprise visit. Wanted to surprise my mom on Christmas. It's kind of a hard time for her. For both of us."

He could almost feel Bones' frown, his narrowed eyes boring into the back of Jim's head, was willing to concede that he could possibly have told him a little more about the plan before they had arrived. At that moment it just looked like Jim was telling the most easily disproved lie of all time.

"And your friend?" The Lieutenant was looking at Bones, then, too, narrowing her eyes at his clear anxiety.

"New boyfriend. Mom's not met him yet. I keep telling him she's not as scary as she looks, but- well, you know."

"Name?"

"James." Jim leaned on the counter, bit and licked his bottom lip before adding, at her unimpressed and expectant look, "Tiberius."

That fucking recording of his parents naming him had been a matter of public record for years, and he saw the realisation dawn, the recognition in her eyes. Clean-shaven, he did resemble his father. He smiled, could only hope that it didn't look too smugly triumphant, "Is Admiral Kirk available?"

"Jesus fuck," he heard Bones mutter behind him, but the Lieutenant was distracted, already making the call.

"We can see ourselves up, if you like. I know where her office is. And you guys must be short staffed, what with it being a holiday. It's really no trouble." Jim was already sidling past her, shooting Bones a significant look to urge him to follow, resisting the urge to break into a run as she desperately tried to convince her superiors that she wasn't lying. He felt a little sorry for her, and a little guilty that she'd got caught up in it all.

"We need to find a transporter room and barricade ourselves in as quickly as possible, because I was lying about some of that."

"You don't say."

"Yeah. I haven't seen my mom in ten years, I have no idea where her office is."

"Feel like you could have told me some of this before we got here."

Jim could hear someone approaching from ahead of them, pretty damn quickly, grabbed Bones' arm to yank him around the corner into another identical hallway. "Where's the fun in that?"

-

"James Kirk, you open this door right now!"

"Sorry mom, can't do that!" Jim shouted back, vaguely in the direction of the locked and barricaded door to the transporter room, then hissed. "Scotty! Any time today!"

"Oh, sorry, am I supposed to have my genius breakthroughs on schedule now?"

"You're supposed to have them before we get arrested!"

"You didn't have this one at all," Bones pointed out, and Scotty gave him the finger, thankfully without breaking away from his work. "We really didn't think this through. If we get arrested, who's going to pay our bail?"

"I don't think you get bail from military prison." Scotty said. "And what the hell are you doing here anyway? You have more to lose than any of us."

"That's what I said!" Jim threw up his hands at Bones' glare, looked back at the door. He'd done what he could to jam it and shut down the electronic lock, but it sounded like they were breaking out the power tools out there, and there was only so long even a reinforced door would hold. "Scotty!"

"I'm trying!"

"If you scatter our molecules across the quantum realm I'm going to be deeply upset with you." Bones wasn't doing great with the pressure either, fidgeting, looking at the door and back again, arms folded, jaw tense.

"The quantum realm is actually more of a measure of scale-"

"Scotty!" Jim interrupted. He did not have time for that debate. None of them did. "He is right, though."

"Oh, sure. Do I pick either of you up on your casual medical inaccuracies?"

"Yes!"

"Consistently." Scotty agreed, although he was putting down his tools, just checking over his work. "Alright. I think she's done. Are you sure about this?"

"Not even slightly."

"You don't have to do this. It's- me and Scotty who did all the really bad stuff. Nobody would blame you if you wanted to back out, now." Jim took Bones' hands, pulled him gently towards the transporter pad. He stepped up, Scotty next to him with the remote in hand, Bones still on the floor.

"I just found you." It was barely a whisper, the pain in Bones' eyes clear to see, the fear and the loss.

Jim squeezed his hands. "This is what life with me is like. I can't change. I tried, for a long time. But this- this is what I was born to do."

There was the screaming of metal parting over by the door. They didn't have long. Jim looked into gorgeous, shifting hazel eyes like it might be the last time he did it, and Bones looked back. Whatever he was searching for, it made him step up on that plate next to Jim and move in to kiss him softly, all-too briefly.

"Do it, Scotty."

"Alright. It- looks like pretty much the whole fleet is travelling at warp right now. So I've gone for the one that entered it most recently. Don't want them to drop out while we're transporting, it just creates another set of variables-"

"Stop. Before I change my mind." Bones looked a little like he wasn't joking. His grip on Jim's hand was painfully tight.

"Here we go, then."

Scotty hit the button. Potentially an instant from death, Jim had never felt so alive.

-

"Holy shit."

Jim had no idea which of them was the most surprised that they made it. Scotty was looking around in wonderment, like he'd never seen a cargo bay before. Jim's heart pounded. He hauled Bones in for a rough kiss before heading for the closest computer terminal. "We need to get to the Bridge. Or at least try. The closer we get the more attention we'll- draw."

He stopped, because the computer had been wrested from his control, instead displaying a ship-wide broadcast.

"Is that kid an officer?" he heard Bones ask behind him, only vaguely, too focused on what was being said, something deep inside of him just screaming at him that it was wrong, something was going badly, he needed to fix it.

The words had barely registered, the lightning storm in space, before he was moving. He had a working knowledge of starships, the theories on which their designs were based. He could find the Bridge, and he had to, he needed to warn them-

"Jim!" he heard Bones shout, but it had to wait, there was no time to explain. He ran, and he had to deck a couple of too-curious crew members who got in his way, but they weren't hurt, not really, not compared to the hundreds who would die if he didn't get to the Bridge. He had no idea how long it would be until they dropped out of warp, but it couldn't be long.

An alert sounded, and from snatches of overhear comm traffic he knew that Scotty and Bones had been discovered by security. It meant his way was mostly free, that he could skid to a halt in front of the doors to the bridge and use his mother's security code to gain access.

"Who the hell are you?" the Captain turned in his chair to ask. Three officers in red were pointing phasers at him, but Jim raised his hands in surrender and for the first time in so many years, he fully answered that question.

"My name is James Tiberius Kirk. And you're flying into a trap."

One of the officers moved as though to take hold of him, but the Captain held up a hand. "You're George Kirk's son?"

"My dad died because of- of the same thing you're flying towards. The lightning storm in space. You need to stop or everyone on this ship will die."

"How did you get on board?"

"It's- there's no time for this, please."

There must have been something in his eyes, or his face, or his tone, but the Captain turned to one of his officers. "Comm the rest of the fleet."

"I already tried, Sir. They're not responding." 

The Captain looked at Jim for a moment longer before facing the front again, commanding, "Red Alert."

Jim sagged in relief. At least someone was taking him seriously. But if this ship was the last to warp, then the rest of the fleet, heading for the same thing- they could already be-

"Two more intruders, Captain."

Somehow, Jim managed a relieved smile in the direction of Scotty and Bones, both in cuffs and accompanied by red-clad security officers. Scotty nodded back, although Bones took one step onto the Bridge and recoiled visibly, squeezing his eyes shut. He had to be hauled into the room, not resisting but unmoving, and Jim took a step towards him only to have a phaser brandished very close to his face.

"How did you get on board my ship?" the Captain asked, but Jim was barely listening. Bones looked like he could barely stand, was swaying on his feet, nearly got himself shot when he lurched abruptly to the side to vomit. 

"And what's wrong with him?" the Captain asked next.

"Aviophobia. Fear of flying. Or- of space, more accurately. I tried telling him he shouldn't come-"

"Shut up, Scotty." Bones managed to groan, at least, on his knees, leaning his head against the polished aluminium wall while security officers tried in vain to avoid getting vomit on their boots.

"Take him to med-bay. With a guard. You still haven't answered my question. How did you get here?"

"We beamed aboard, Captain." Scotty stepped aside himself, then, out of the spreading puddle.

"This ship is travelling at warp," one of the science officers interrupted.

The Captain only glanced at him, before returning to Scotty. "You're Montgomery Scott."

"I am, sir."

"Well. You said it was possible." The Captain had a warm, wry smile. Despite everything, despite every fibre of his being urging him to go with Bones, Jim liked him. "And I never liked that beagle."

"Arriving in ten seconds, Captain," the pilot piped up, before they could get much further with that particular conversation. Everyone's eyes were on the view screen, expressions torn between trepidation and dread.

"Take them to the brig," The Captain ordered.

Before that order could be carried out, everything went to shit.

-

"This sucks," Jim said leaning back against the wall of his cell in the brig, staring balefully over at Scotty who was lounging on the bunk. At least they'd been allowed to share a cell instead of wasting the days away on their own. "I saved the planet!"

"You also committed various acts of trespass, theft, assault and mutiny. What did you expect?"

"So did Bones, they let him stay in uniform!"

"He's the only person within a hundred light-years capable of piecing Captain Pike's spine back together. So I ask again, what did you expect?"

Jim sighed, toyed with the black undershirt he was wearing. They hadn't let him keep the gold one. Something about creating a misleading impression. "Starfleet can recruit civilians who have an instrumental impact on furthering their cause, in exceptional circumstances."

"That's one way of describing this clusterfuck." Scotty sighed, though, ran a hand through his hair. "Wait 'til we get back to Earth. When Captain Pike is conscious for more than ten minutes at a time, and the Admiralty have heard more than that psychopathic First Officer's comm messages and your mother's stories, you'll get your chance."

"You think so?"

"Of course. No way Starfleet'll want you working against them when this is what happens while you're on their side."

Jim managed a small, grateful smile at that, before the creeping doubt- "We did the right thing, didn't we?"

"Who the fuck knows? I have no idea how any of this lot survived this long with Captain Pike barelling his way off the Bridge and onto enemy ships the first chance he gets, but maybe they could have got through it without us. Guess we'll never find out."

"He's a good Captain."

"He very nearly _was_ a good Captain."

There wasn't much Jim could say to that. He let his head drop back against the wall and tried not to count the passing of hours.

-

"He's going to be alright," was the first thing Bones said when he came down to see them, allowed in past the guard without question and clad in a blue medical uniform. He looked exhausted, tired and worn, received a sympathetic nod from Scotty he returned with a small, genuine smile.

He hauled Jim into a hug, not that he needed to. Jim went willingly, wrapped that not-yet familiar body up in his arms and held on tight.

"When I heard they'd hit Med-Bay-" Jim was unable to express the deep, vicious spike of dread that had passed through him at that moment, when he'd thought Bones not only gone but torn from him during an escapade Jim had brought him on. His hold tightened, his body trembling as it hit him, so much he'd suppressed, and he managed to hold back outright sobs but still shook, burying his face in Bones' shoulder for his tears to soak into the fabric.

And through it all, Bones stroked his hair, held him right back, gave Scotty the finger when he started muttering about wanting his own separate cell, after all.

"Gunna tear you a new one for all you've been up to, when we get home, you know," Bones promised, and if Jim's laugh was borne more of relief than of humour, even Scotty knew not to say anything.

-

It took them weeks to get back to Earth with a barely functioning warp core. At least Acting Captain Spock did allow Jim to help out in Med-Bay, and if he spent more time flirting with Bones and talking to Captain Pike than he did actually doing inventory, well at least he was out of the way

He also learned something he might not have been privy to, had he been stuck down in the brig. 

"Months I spent, trying to convince you," Captain Pike said one day when Bones came in to check how he was doing. "And here you are, running my Med-Bay like you were born to it."

"You only say that because you don't see the vomiting and the panic attacks," Bones replied, although his hands were steady and sure on the scanners and when he loaded his hypospray.

He slept with Jim, most nights, after drugging himself into sedation, uppers ready and loaded on the bedside table of the CMO's quarters in case he was needed. He couldn't take anti-anxiety meds without risking the effect they'd have on his reflexes, although the anti-nausea ones seemed to have been helping. Clearly though, nobody else was party to that.

"We'd help you with that, at the Academy. You'd get through the course in three years, without a doubt. Be excused from a number of the practical examinations." Pike had that sort of warm conviction it was impossible to argue with, not that Jim would have done. Bones was amazing. Except, then, Pike turned to him. "You'd make Officer in four years too, you know."

Jim was too taken aback to say anything. He really thought he might have been dismissed entirely, due to his behaviour and his attitude. If he'd expected anything from the following few years, it was a lengthy prison term while the enquiry took place. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Apparently, neither could Bones. He snorted and said, "He'd do it in three."

He and Jim exchanged ridiculous, dumb, proud smiles until Pike groaned, "Now I feel like vomiting."

-

"I'd be a little more convinced if I didn't have to field three calls a day from his former CMO. I could practically sue Phil Boyce for harassment at this point, so Chris wants to say anything to you and me about an inappropriate relationship, he won't have a leg to stand on- ugh. That was in poor taste."

"'Chris'?" Jim thought was by far the more salient point.

Bones glared at him, although the fact that he was shirtless and sprawled on the couch in the CMO's quarters with a glass of brandy in his hand -kindly donated by Captain Pike to further the cause of convincing him to leave Med-Bay for more than eight hours at a time- somewhat reduced the impact.

"We've spent a lot of time together. I rummaged around inside him."

Jim wasn't sure how to feel about that. He'd narrowed it down to pride or jealousy before he had to point out, "You'll probably see more of him. At the Academy."

Over the rim of his glass, Bones regarded him darkly. "Like you won't."

"So- you wanna do this, then?"

They hadn't talked about it yet, had been alternately dodging the matter for weeks, never quite settling. Jim had no idea what he was going to do, whether he could bring himself to come so close to what his father had been and to risk feeling eclipsed by that again when he'd finally found a way to make a name for himself.

But he wanted. It had been so long since he'd wanted anything, and he didn't know if he could stand to lose it.

He didn't know if he could stand losing Bones, either. Their lives had become so abruptly, intrinsically entwined that Jim didn't know whether to attribute it to their compatibility or some huge shared delusion, but in between the stress and the anxiety and the doubt- he felt happy.

It seemed like too much to hope for, that he could have both, that Bones would consider leaving his existing life and everything in it to do a job that he'd turned down multiple times, just because of Jim.

Somehow, he hoped anyway.

"I have been thinking of moving out of Georgia," Bones sighed, though, and Jim stared at him.

"Isn't it your home?"

Bones shrugged, grimaced, took a sip of his drink. "I grew up there. Went to school. Went a whole state over for college. Went back. Got married. I had a whole life planned out, but-" he paused, staring into his empty glass.

"The divorce?"

Bones snorted. "I thought it was that. But now when I think about it, I wasn't happy for a long time before that. I was just going through the motions because I thought- that was all there was. I've never been the type to think the grass might be greener. And then-"

He paused again. Jim was about ready to snap if he didn't stop keeping him in suspense. "And then what?" he asked, as gently as he could with his heart pounding, fear and hope and dread all flooding through his veins.

"And then I met this lunatic who taught me that there was more to life than I'd ever considered."

"Do you- mean me, or Scotty?"

"Oh, he's a lunatic, alright. Not sure he's ever taught me anything."

"Certainly didn't teach you what the quantum realm is."

"Never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Hopefully not for a long time."

"Jim Kirk. Was that an offer of commitment I just heard?"

It was the first time Bones had ever said his surname. It really felt like it belonged to Jim, when Bones said it. Not just a shadow of his past.

"Wanna run away from home with me, Bones?"

"Well now, that's impossible." Bones lurched into a sitting position, still steady, still graceful and controlled as he set his glass aside, was looking into Jim's eyes, so honest and sincere when he explained, "A few things have changed in my life recently. And I realised. **Home is where you are.** "

Jim had to blink away tears, couldn't possibly express everything he was feeling in that moment, out in the depths of space with everything he needed. "Thanks for coming with me, Bones."

Bones just smiled at him. "Thank you for staying."


End file.
